


maybe bad ideas sometimes work out

by spoom



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Panic, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Panic Attacks, Praise Kink, Regret, but not in the internalized homophobia way, dream calls george georgie idcidc, hey lets not let that be the last tag, no beta we don't know what that is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:48:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28804575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoom/pseuds/spoom
Summary: “I mean I would maybe wanna do that with you, I guess.”He squeezed his eyes shut, and flashes of Dream's teasing chuckle rang out in his head. George grimaced as his brain connected the dots between that warm noise and the events of last night. The way that laugh so quickly fell from his features, replaced by a mix of curiosity and concern and...something else. He shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. "George?"  Tighter. A hand on his arm, his best friends questioning eyes, the deafening silence. He brought his hands over his face. "Did you mean that, George?"-orGeorge is really worried he just ruined a friendship
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> so!! this is. very angsty. it was lightly based off of the song "bad idea" by girl in red but like. it actually went somewhere? didn't expect that. anyways. i might do more chapters and make a story out of it if anyone wants that.

The dim grey lights flickered, just as they had the night before. George was sitting on the floor of his hallway, tear stained face buried in his hands, his knees tucked so far into his chest it was almost painful. Why did he let himself get here? He let out another choked sob, dragging his hands down his face.

His vision blurred, he turned to look at the doorway. Memories flooded into the forefront of his mind. He could see himself standing there, asking for Dream to stay over, his hands twisted in anxious knots at his chest. George remembered how the other had laughed, the look in his eyes burning bright in his mind's eye. " _Whatever you want_ ," he'd said.

With shaky legs and a warm hand cupped over his mouth, George lifted himself off of the cool tiled floor. He wanted to stand there, in the place he'd been last night, where he'd let his walls slip down so unreluctantly, so unlike himself. He hated that he'd let himself do this, hated that Dream had let it happen, hated that he didn't hate it. And yet, something was compelling him to relive it. _Whatever you want, George._

Oh, and he had _wanted_ so much, he thought, tracing the door with his hand. Not even 24 hours ago, he had stood here with his best friend, butterflies in his chest and confessions still resting securely in his throat. When had he decided it would be okay to move them from that safe place? Why? Yes, it was late and he had been tired, the kind of tired that makes you do stupid things. But this wasn't just a dumb flirtatious joke, this wasn't a fond glance that lasted just a little too long. Why had he brought those words into his mouth and out of the dark? Why hadn't he held them there while he still could? Why had he let them slip past his lips with such genuineness that they were impossible to play off as teasing? He could feel a headache soaking into his temples.

_“I mean I would maybe wanna do that with you, I guess.”_

He squeezed his eyes shut, and flashes of Dream's teasing chuckle rang out in his head. George grimaced as his brain connected the dots between that warm noise and the events of last night. The way that laugh so quickly fell from his features, replaced by a mix of curiosity and concern and... _something_ else. He shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. _"George?"_ Tighter. _A hand on his arm, his best friends questioning eyes, the deafening silence._ He brought his hands over his face. _"Did you mean that, George?"_

He ripped his eyes open, shaking his head, trying to clear it. He took a step back from the doorway, turning to look back into the kitchen. His phone is sitting on the counter, and he momentarily considers grabbing it, but quickly dismisses the idea, remembering the dozens of missed call notifications that had made him put it down earlier. He frowned, realizing it hadn't been out of the kitchen since last night. The little message box had been quickly forgotten, attention turned to warm lips, wandering hands, whimpered ' _I love you'_ s muffled by soft blue bedsheets.

George let out a shaky sigh, overwhelmed but resolved to continue remembering, continue retracing his missteps and picking up all the tiny detailed pieces he hadn't had time to more closely examine. He turned to the spot he’d stood yesterday, thinking about the calm tone Dream spoke in. _"You did...didn't you? You really want..."_ Even now, George can feel himself dissolving. " _Yeah._ " No, no, _please_ , you can still take it back, you can still _fix_ this _, please,_ he screams at his past self, willing him to somehow hear him and _listen._

The next words ring out in his mind like a scream in the dark, hitting him with such force that he nearly collapses right then and there.

_"Are you sure about that?"_

_He'd looked up, willing himself to look into Dream's eyes. The voice he'd come to know so well had never sounded so serious. He'd nodded._

_The nail in the coffin._

_That something else in Dream’s eyes had been overwhelming. He'd slowly leaned closer to George, giving him time to move away. No such move was made._

_"Well, Georgie," a hand had found its way under his jaw, tilting his head up until they were so, so close "then that's what you're gonna get."_

_The words were fire against George's lips, and the mouth that was on him in the next second was scorching. George had slammed his eyes shut, and swore he could see stars. He'd let out a high whine. This was paradise, he'd decided. The hand on his arm slid around his waist, and Dream spun him, pinning him against the wall he'd been leaning against. George had nearly sobbed at that. Dream was stealing him, and George was letting him. Encouraging him with wandering hands, gentle touches, soft pleading noises._

George swallowed, the memories were still so bright and loud in his mind, everything felt so intense. He took a step forward, spinning to peer down the hallway. 

_Lips parting from his, a hand moving down to intertwine their fingers, eyes opening up to look into his own. A warm, happy smile, and the words “Come on, you beautiful idiot”._

_Dream had led him down the hallway, stopping at his bedroom door._

_“Are you okay with doing this here?”_

_George was still trying to work his way out of his own stunned silence. After a hesitant pause, thinking over what he'd been asked, he'd nodded._

_“Yeah, thank you,” he'd whispered._

_George was swiftly pulled into the room, and Dream had stepped behind him to shut the door. All the lights but the small lamp on George’s nightstand were off, which had lit up the boy’s soft features so nicely that Dream had to resist staring at him for longer than a few seconds._

George wandered into his room mid-thought, slowly briging himself to revisit the memories, despite himself. He quickly shut off his main light, walking over to the bed in the dark. Sitting down, he reached for the lamp, and switched it on. The golden glow immediately flooded his room. He looked down at the bedsheets under him. 

_“Blue,” Dream had mused, smiling at the bed._

_George had hummed in response, scratching the back of his neck. Dream had turned to him, his smile fond and comforting. He'd stepped closer, bringing his hands up to George’s face. His thumbs had stroked over George’s cheekbones, and his heart ached at the way golden brown eyes fluttered shut._

_George was feeling so much. Almost too much. He he had been about to open his eyes when Dream’s hands began trailing downward, and he couldn’t help but shiver at the way his finger dragged down the skin of his neck. A gentle kiss was pressed into his cheek, the corner of his lip, his jaw, his neck. Oh god, Dream was kissing his neck. They were in his bedroom and they were holding each other and Dream was kissing his neck and George had never felt so content, so whole, so happy._

_“Can I?”_

_George had looked down. Dream had the hem of his shirt in his hands._

_Blushing, he'd replied. “Yeah.”_

_Dream had pulled the fabric up and over the brunette's head, tossing it to the floor. He'd let out a deep breath._

_“Fuck,” he'd sighed, “You’re so pretty.”_

_Averting the taller boy's eyes, George whispered a quiet “you too”_

_Dream had stepped forward, pressing their lips together for a second before resting his heavy head on George’s shoulder. He'd ran his hands up and down the older boy’s back, smiling when he shuddered in response. George’s mind was moving a mile a minute. His breath was coming in quick-paced huffs and he couldn’t help the quiet whimpers scraping their way up his throat. Skilled hands had rubbed at the muscles in his shoulders and soft lips had kissed the space behind his ear._

_“Are you ready for more, George?”_

_The question had nearly broke him, all he could do was nod and whine. Thankfully, Dream got the message. Strong arms laid him down on cool blue sheets that felt amazing on his warm back. Long legs tangled with his own and a fluffy haired boy with green eyes full of love looked down at him. Eyes that said 'I’ll take care of you', 'I’ll love you', 'I’ll make you feel like the most beautiful thing in this whole universe, you’re safe here, you belong here.' It was the most lovely feeling, to be loved, he'd decided. Everything had been singing around them, all the light was gold, and George could feel Dream’s heartbeat under his palm._

George closed his eyes. The pit in his stomach seemed to grow with each new memory that resurfaced. 

_Brown eyes shut tight, gentle hands coaxing him open, a soft voice reassuring him, praising him._

His hands shake.

_His own voice begging for touch, hands tightly curled in the sheets bellow, leaning into the warm hand cupping his cheek._

“Stop,” he whispers to himself, “why didn’t you stop?”

_Soft kisses pressed to his neck and chest, a warm smile pressed against his lips, a loud whimper and an arched back._

George slammed his hands down into the bedding, a choked sob clawing its way out of his throat.

_Waking up, remembering._

_“Dream?” he’d whimpered_

_“Yeah?”_

_Oh god._

_“You have to leave.”_

_“What?”_

_“Please,” he'd begged, beginning to shake. “Please go.”_

_“George- I don’t… Are you-”_

_“I said go, Dream.” his voice shook. “That’s not how I wanted that to go.”_

_The taller looked hurt, and George had wanted to sob. He hated what he was doing, but everything felt so wrong. He couldn’t have just slept with his best friend. No, he couldn’t have. Did he even like him like that? He needed to think._

_And so Dream had left, apologizing profusely. And George had cried himself to sleep, willing it all to go away._

He walked back to the kitchen, feeling as dreadful as he had when he’d woken up. His phone was buzzing on the counter. He didn’t have to check, he knew who it was.

Before he could change his mind, he answered the call.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> that moment when you become self aware and now you have to like. deal with it. fun fun fun.

There was a beat of hesitant silence, a moment where neither of them knew what to say, and George felt his heart drop five stories. All the air seemed to leave his lungs, and he could feel an overwhelming wave of fear rush over him. He almost hung up, the panic short-circuiting his drained mind. 

“Hey.”

That was all it took. George had had enough, he couldn’t stop himself now, he’d been tied down to the tracks and the train had arrived. In a second, his vision was blurred, his ears were ringing, his knees gave out. Coherent thoughts exploded though his mind like cruel, painful fireworks.  _ Too soon, this can’t- You’re not ready. You can’t, you can’t, you can't- _

“George? George are you there?” a soft, concerned, voice asked.  _ Dream _ , he thought. _ Dream is here. _

He desperately attempted to regain composure, his throat worn raw from hours of non-stop sobbing and trying desperately to keep his breathing even. He went to apologise to his friend, but all that came out was a choked cry. 

“Are you okay? George?” he paused, but no reply came. “George, say something,” Dream’s voice sounded raspy, and George subconsciously wondered if maybe the blonde had cried as much as him. He thought about Dream, lying on the floor of his bedroom, wondering what he’d done wrong. His chest felt tight, and he felt hot guilt flush his ears and sink into his stomach. He tried to cry out, his voice high and cracking in the air before dissolving into nothing but a pained squeak. He sucked in another breath.

“ _ Dream _ ,” he choked out, a weak, panicked cry. 

He heard Dream pick up his phone, holding it closer to his ear, desperately trying to hear him.

“Are you okay? I’m here, I hear you, George are you okay?” The fearful worry in his voice was unmistakable, and George held his breath, desperately willing his crying to stop, to no avail.

George hummed, trying to convey his message.  _ I’m sorry, I can’t speak, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I thought I could, I’m sorry- _

“Are you in a safe place George?”

Another hum, accompanied by quick, shallow, breaths.

“Okay, it’s gonna be okay. It’s okay. Take your time, just breathe.”

A few quiet moments passed, Dream waiting patiently for his friend to recover.

“Tha- Thank you _ ,”  _ George managed to squeak out, inhaling a deep, shaky, breath that left his lungs aching.

“Of course, Georgie,” Dream's voice abruptly paused when the nickname slipped out, and George could feel that he was debating apologizing.  _ No, don’t be sorry. God, please don’t ever be sorry.  _ He took a deep breath.

“I like-” George let out a small cough, “it when you say that.”

The silence that followed hurt more than it should have.  _ How was he supposed to reply,  _ he asked himself.

“...Did I hurt you, George?”

It was his turn to be silent. He held the question in his hands, turned it over and read it backwards. Had Dream hurt him? No, he thought. Of course he hadn’t. But yet...Had it not been Dream he’d been so wrecked by last night? Wasn’t it Dream’s voice that he’d grown so dependent on that simple silence hurt him? Were it not Dream’s hands that he so desperately wanted to hold, to the point where he felt empty and cold and alone at night, gripping his bedsheets for some sort of contact? George shook his head, trying to get an answer out.

“I...don’t think so.” he replied, his voice hoarse.

“You don’t  _ think  _ so?” Dream repeated.

George could feel his heartbeat quicken, but he wouldn’t let the panic get the best of him this time.

“I don’t know,” he swallowed thickly, trying to keep his head above water, “I’m hurt, but I don’t think it’s your fault. I just wish this hadn’t happened.”

He could hear a sharp inhale on the other side of the line.

When Dream spoke again, it was quiet, and George didn’t think he’d ever hear his friend sound so hurt. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

He wishes he could put a hand on Dream’s arm, assure him that this wasn’t his fault, that he isn’t upset with him, that he’s worried it might have actually been one of the best nights of his life. But he can’t hold him, and he can’t look him in the eyes, and he can’t admit those things out loud. Not because Dream would hear them, but because saying them out loud would make this all so much more real, and George wasn’t ready for that kind of confrontation. So instead of all that, instead of doing everything he wanted to do, George used the safest answer he could think of.

“It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

But that won't work, and he  _ knows  _ it, the second the words leave his lips. He knows his friend, knows how high of a standard he holds over himself, he knows he isn’t going to forgive himself that easily.

“It is, George. I-” he stopped, taking a breath, “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

George desperately wanted this to be over. He knew it wasn’t a good idea, knew this would leave the conversation unfinished, knew that it might hurt both of them, but imagining this going on any longer made George want to sob.

“Dream, it’s okay. It’s okay. Let’s forget it ever happened. Please.”

“...Okay,” Dream said, and his voice was so quiet, so unlike himself. “If that’s what you want.”

_ “You really want…”  _

_ “Are you sure?” _

_ “You’re so pretty.” _

George brought a hand to his neck, feeling the spots left there from the night before.

“Okay. Thank you.”

The call didn’t last much longer after that, and George was thankful for it. His legs were sore from sitting on the kitchen floor, and his head felt like it was full of stones. Deciding to ditch his phone in the kitchen for another night, George shuffled into the hallway bathroom. 

Turning to close the door, he caught a glance of himself in the mirror above his sink. God, when had his hair twisted itself into that shape?  _ Actually, don’t answer that, _ he told himself. The last time he’d looked in this mirror had been before. Before all of this. But when had  _ this  _ even started? When had he started to see Dream like that? When had his lingering stares turned into longing glances? When had gentle laughs gone from uplifting to addictive? When had Dream gone from just a friend to someone he needed in his life?

George had a couple ideas.

Maybe it had started when they’d sat on the floor of Dream’s bedroom, backs up against his bed, a blanket over their knees, and snacks strewn all around them. Or perhaps it was when they’d played laser tag last summer, and Dream had eventually just grabbed George around the waist to get him to stop targeting him. It could have been when he first met Patches, Dream’s cat, and watched her fall asleep in the blond’s lap. Maybe it had been the moment they’d met, when a tall loud boy had looked at him with bright green eyes and asked him for a quick favor. 

George sighed, spinning to turn on the faucet. He didn’t have the energy for a shower, he decided. Pulling his clothes off, he stepped in and let the water fill up around him. He sat on the edge of the tub for a bit, watching the warm water climb up his ankles. He noticed some red spots, further up his legs, little marks that marked the trail Dream had kissed into his thighs. He let his left hand ghost over one of the spots, and shivered when he felt a slight twinge of pain there. 

“ _ You’re doing so well Georgie, so beautiful like this _ .”

If he had any tears left in him, George is sure he would be crying right now. Instead he just sinks down into the warmth of the bathwater. 

Why did it all hurt so much?

He hadn’t even thought about it yet, but as he shut off the faucet and tilted his head back to face the ceiling, he had to wonder.  _ Why are you upset _ ? And though he’d spent the entire day looking away from it, turning every time it circled around him, bringing itself back into his line of attention, he suddenly felt the small truth impossible to ignore.

He was ashamed because he’d loved it. 

He’d loved being with Dream.

Tears he didn’t know he had left in him burned hot trails down his face.

He was in love with his best friend, and hadn’t even noticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh thank you so much for reading :))) hope everyone is having a lovely day.

**Author's Note:**

> please tear this apart, i love feedback. also thank you for reading this. very neat of you.


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